Until You Save Me
by Busman's Holiday
Summary: Ste writes a letter to Brendan in prison, one which he'll never send. Sad fic in which Ste mourns the loss of Brendan from his life.


**A/N: This is incredibly depressing and perhaps overly sentimental but I was sad and I had to get it out of my system.**

**Ste writes a letter to Brendan in prison which he never intends to send.**

**Until You Save Me**

Dear Brendan,

I'm not gonna send this. You probably wouldn't read it anyway. And I know it's because it hurts and not because you don't feel like I do. You want me to move on, but those are just words people say. They're words people say when there's nothing else left _to say_.

I can't move on.

I can't talk to anyone about you. Not the Brendan I know and love. They all think you're this cold blooded serial killer. They think you're a nutter and a psycho and that I should've expected this. I'm not allowed to grieve for you; for the man I've lost. For the life we had planned.

I can't tell anyone that you were the best thing that ever happened to me.

They wouldn't understand that I'd be thinking about proposing to ya, that I'd lay there at night when you were snoring, playing out our future like a movie trailer. We'd be on holidays, we'd watch our kids grow up and worry about them, we'd go grey and I'd lose my looks but you'd still look at me like I was that twenty year old you fancied the first time. We'd fight of course, over stupid things, but they'd be blazing – but you'd stop running away from our problems and we'd talk instead. We'd have sex as much and as good as we always had before. We'd still take risks and get caught because sometimes you just have to go for it. I can't write about how much I miss making love with you, anymore.

And we wouldn't have to worry about all those bad times in the past, because it didn't matter about wasting time – we still had years of it left to enjoy together.

I can't concentrate any more. I can't sleep or work or eat without thinking about you. I can see you in the village everywhere and sometimes I feel like the only one. The club is a shell without you. It's like me, its heart and soul ripped out. It's reopening soon, plastered in a new look and I think maybe I too could try that brave face, but I know without you it's not the same. The deli feels like a chain around my neck and you're not there anymore to come and see me and wind up Doug and eat all me stock. You're not there to stop me from making all the stupid decisions I keep making lately and protect me from the people who are going to hurt me, all because I can't bear to let go of you. I know you'd hate what I'm becoming and what I'm doing. You'd hate that I'm not safe and I'm cold and nasty. But I can't be me without you.

No one knew you like I do. My memories would sound to them like stories I'd invented to try and convince myself that what we had was something special. To them we were all fire and violence and destruction. Who can I tell that I miss the way you made me toast and then nicked half of it? That I miss borrowing your good razor and watching you trim your tash; sitting on your lap and letting you stroke your hand up my back; going to the shop and coming home to your half-hearted attempts at hide and seek with the kids; you colouring in with Leah; burning the fish fingers; taking me for dinner for the first time; you telling me to get a new tattoo of your name; eating a packet of biscuits and blaming in on the kids; sneaking up behind me in the shower; making me watch boring films; you telling me that you really fancy me; you admitting you never saw the point in spooning until you met me; you having a bath with scented candles and lying about it before I got home; you buying odd things in Price Slice and making me do the Ready Steady Cook challenge for tea; you and me.

I've tried to shut it all out. And the police took your things, so I find myself staring at a plate which is still stained from a meal I made us and a mug that you chipped and a bottle of whiskey at the back of the cupboard. I can't smell you anymore. Not on me or our bed or on our sofa. You've really gone from our home.

I can't even get away and escape you. When I see my kids, all I can think of is how great you were being their dad and how much it meant to you that they loved you. And Leah makes herself upset mentioning you because she can't understand why you can't visit too. Why daddy always changes the subject and won't talk about the time Daddy Brendan took us all to the zoo. She has photos of that day and you're not in them of course, cos Amy couldn't know, but it kills me that you're just going to be a memory to her. Because it was perfect wasn't it? Our little family.

I seen Cheryl too. I can try to forgive her, for you.

Your boys were there for a bit and I could hardly look at them. You know how much I wanted to tell them the truth? Tell them about your pain and how much you love them. It hurt to look at them and see you in their eyes and hear them come to terms with your crimes. We were gonna make good you and me – I'd already invited them to England before you got arrested – you were gonna see your boys again and make things right.

I'll never send this. I never can. I'll never share my memories and hopes. I can't get anyone to understand. And I'll keep going, keep surviving, until you can come and save me again.

Love forever,

Steven.


End file.
